What was the question?
by chilibreath
Summary: A look behind the scenes at the episode TB or not TB. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**What was the question?**

**  
(This takes place during the episode TB or Not TB. I got the inspiration in writing this fan fiction in the scene where House threw a tantrum of sorts in Sebastian's room after seeing him and Cameron hold hands. With this piece, I was working on my hypothesis that House is masking some deeper emotions for his underling.) **

Disclaimer: I don't own House, MD, much as I would like to. However, as one neurotic, first-time fanfic writer, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't kidnap my modest homage to the show, either. Kudos to **Devoted**** and all the wonderful people I've befriended there for giving the support, compliments, and suggestions. Kudos to ****Malaquent**** for a copy of the TB transcript, which I've used time and again to pace myself. Many thanks to ****lafuego**** for introducing and inuring me to the wonderful and insane world of fan fiction writing.**

_Dr. Gregory House, one of the world's best diagnosticians, is not known for his people skills. Dr. Allison Cameron, a beautiful immunologist under House's department, looks beyond the illness and into the person. A match made in heaven? Very unlikely. Ever the optimist, Cameron thought there might be a chance for them, maybe even finding in one what the other was looking for._

_Considering her past, Cameron should have known that such hopes are fragile and easy to crush, particularly by the person you heaped it all on. In the months that followed after the disastrous date she managed to coerce House into, Cameron went on an emotional roller-coaster ride, which she was forced to handle on her own when Stacy Warner came back into House's life. Romance placed on the back burner._

_Then, like some moments in House's favorite soap opera, a new patient comes through the doors of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital who would place a significant impact into their lives and view of the world._

_Dr. Sebastian Charles—to the people working in Princeton Plainsboro—is the anti-House. A world-renowned immunologist working non-stop to give medical and world attention to the plight of the people in Africa, he collapsed in the middle of convincing pharmaceutical company bigwigs to do their share. To avoid negative media exposure, these bigwigs were able to find something else in their hearts—rush the famous doctor to PPTH for treatment._

* * *

Great.

It wasn't the first time that Dr.Lisa Cuddy has turned over a patient with a series of mysterious and seemingly undiagnosable ailments to House. More often than not, she forces them down his throat the way he dry-swallows his favorite painkiller. What was unique about this case was how Cuddy introduced it to him—a copy of Newsweek with his future patient on the cover.

"Selling subscriptions? I heard that if you sell twenty, you get a free bike…"

* * *

Dr. Sebastian Charles descended from the elevator and strode purposefully through the hallway, looking to the left as the nurse at the lobby had kindly instructed him.

_Room with glass walls, segregated into a conference room and the office of the Head of Diagnostic Medicine. Look for the door with "Dr. Gregory House, MD" on it._ It would be easier to spot if the glass walls would show him a tall man with a two-day old beard and a cane.

He found the room with the glass walls. From the set up, Dr. Charles surmised—quite rightly—that he had come across the conference room the lobby nurse mentioned. The room contained two men and a woman, all huddled over some folders. Neither of the two men seems to have any need for a cane, which means that Dr. House isn't in yet.

Dr. Charles knew they're doctors—the Diagnostics team of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, one of the best in the medical business. He mentally calculated how much more lives would have been saved if he had even _one_ of these specialists on the field with him…

One of the men looked up from the huddle and spotted Dr. Charles standing in the hallway. His blue eyes became wide and he said something to his colleagues, who turned around at the source of his surprise. The lone woman in the group suddenly jumped up from her seat and opened the door to the conference room.

"Dr. Charles! What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Dr. Charles blinked. He was surprised, not by how much she said in one breath, but by how attractive she is. It's been a while since he stopped to smell the roses, much less rendered speechless by a pretty face, one with a brain, in fact. He almost forgot why he was looking for her office for a moment.

The pretty doctor seemed to sense his loss of speech. She smiled at him—is it possible that an angel could be found in New Jersey?—and raised a hand for him to shake.

"I'm Dr. Allison Cameron," she said. "I'm working with Dr. House on your case."

Dr. Charles gave himself a mental shake from his shock and forced himself to be serious—or at least part of her world—_this_ world.

* * *

Dr. Allison Cameron had that funny feeling again. She was very aware of the large, callused hand that enclosed hers in a handshake between professionals. Dr. Charles looked disheveled in his gray shirt, shorts, and thin robe, his face sporting a bit of stubble, which didn't completely hide the dimple in his left cheek. His unkempt state of dress didn't cover the confidence and intensity of his character, or his affability.

_Not again, Allison._

It has been a while since she thought about being part of a romantic relationship. After that—"thing" she and House went through, she placed those hopes in the back of her mind and tried to place all her attention on her job. So far, so good. She and House had been silent about the true nature of that date and never discussed about it, not even when she tried to force him into seeing the dying girl and giving an alternative diagnosis.

Cameron was pulled out of her reverie by someone clearing his throat.

"Speaking of my case," said Dr. Charles, "I'd like to sit in on the differential. Is Dr. House running late?"

"Kind of," Cameron answered a little sheepishly, like a giggly sophomore. "He's meeting with Dr. Cuddy first before he comes up here. Won't you come in? I'll introduce you to the rest of the team…"

* * *

"Patients aren't usually part of the diagnostic process."

Dr. Charles turned around at the sound of the acerbic tone. Dr. Gregory House has finally made an appearance.

He offered a hand to shake. "Dr. House, I'm Sebastian Charles."

_Like I care, Doc Africa._

In the few painful strides he made in crossing the conference room, House sensed a change in the atmosphere of the conference room, and it wasn't because they had a visitor. When he reached the whiteboard, he popped a Vicodin into his mouth and surveyed his domain, searching for something among his underlings.

Can't be Foreman—dog's still in the game. Even snarked about Chase's rich boy status to Dr. Charles as their patient handed out photos and descriptions like a well-trained car salesman—if there ever was one.

Can't be Chase—he may be a suck-up pretty boy, but a suck-up pretty boy with priorities. The intensivist from down under didn't make any attempts to make a good impression with the immunologist from the Congo.

That left Cameron—and his round blue eyes narrowed a bit when the beautiful doctor rushed to tell Charles about her contribution to his charity.

How so like Cameron to make the patient feel comfortable.

Good! Her concern and hero-worship were getting nauseating, like Kryptonite to Superman. Months ago, House suspected it was her way of making him "feel better"—her way of telling him that he needed it from her, who had so much to give. He confirmed it on their one and only date—they had an unspoken agreement never to breathe the actual outcome of it to another soul.

Damn it.

House should've had Cameron's head checked when his barb hit the proverbial bull's eye.

He took a deep breath and nearly gagged as the smell finally penetrated his sinuses. Apparently, their patient did stir something up—something _foul_.

"What is _that_?"

* * *

Dr. James Wilson is amused.

He was looking at a 40-somethingyear old man prowling inside his office with a limp and a chip on his shoulder. Wilson couldn't be sure if he was asked, but he could've sworn he heard House mutter that some "big-headed charity case" was "putting the moves" on the "gullible little immunologist".

"…too good for her, the idiot!"

Wilson raised a dark eyebrow at that and a dimple appeared on his left cheek. Time to do the grouch test.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," he inquired as innocently as he could. Unlike House, Wilson couldn't mask his humor that well when the situation called for it. He was thankful that "Dr. Scrooge" didn't pickup on the scent of sarcasm—yet. "Who's too good for whom?"

House halted mid-prowl and turned on his heel to face the oncologist, who was looking at him with a funny look on his face—as though he was trying hard not to laugh and stay serious at the same time.

"What do you have, Wilson? Constipation?" he growled.

Wilson shook his head and shoulders in silent laughter.

"I'm feeling pretty good at the moment, thank you," he said. "Seeing how Sebastian Charles gets under your skin since he caught Cameron's eye…"

House snorted. "Like hell he does." He limped to the office windows and sent a brooding stare into the New Jersey skyline. Wilson moved around his desk and sat on the chair where the patients usually are, waiting for House to say something.

He didn't have to wait too long.

House whirled around to face Wilson with astonishing speed. Wilson wondered how his friend managed to keep his balance after such speedy spinning.

"Cameron is attracted to sick men like—"

"You are addicted to Vicodin?" Wilson supplied innocently.

"Nah-uh!" House shot back like a prom queen. "Beside the point; what's this guy got that I don't?"

Wilson pretended to think about it seriously for ten seconds before replying with, "Well for starters, he's better-looking than you, nicer, thinks more about the good of mankind…"

"For starters, wonder boy!" House growled as he tried to jab Wilson on the chest with his cane, which the oncologist deftly avoided by kicking against his desk and letting the chair move across the room on its own. "I don't need a recommendation from you, since you're biased and you've left out arrogant and stupid."

Wilson snorted. "Gee, what a surprise! Everyone is stupid next to you."

"Naturally—and I happen to have bluer eyes and better B.O.—did you get a good whiff off him when he got here?" House emphasized the last by sticking out his tongue and putting his index finger to it as though inducing vomiting.

"Nauseating," Wilson drawled. "Yet, he's got one-up on you, though."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Dr. Cameron's affections."

It was House's turn to snort, which was more impressively sardonic than Wilson's. "He's welcome to them for as long as he's confined here. The moment he's discharged and shipped off to Africa, Cameron'll forget about him. Don't forget, she's one of my biggest fans!"

"I don't think so, House," said Wilson, fighting off an urge to snigger. He noticed how House's knuckles were whitening as he gripped his cane. "From the look of things, she's revoking her membership from your measly fan club."

"Don't patronize me, Wil—what do you mean by that!" House's eye narrowed into electric blue slits.

"She's supporting his diagnosis, for one…"

"Charles is an idiot 'coz that's the only disease he remembered from med school. As for her agreeing with him, well, its making me wonder—"

"She smiles more when he's around…"

"You couldn't separate a smile from a gag reflex?" House let out a bark of laughter. "He's still using his shit-powder if he hasn't found a guano-based deodorant."

"And her blouse is more revealing today…"

"WHAT?"

Wilson's eyes opened wide at that. He edged away from House as the man stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

People working at PPTH knew better than to stand in Dr. House's way. Those who didn't know any better—or who didn't know how to read his body language—have a better chance of getting run over by a steam roller and live to tell the tale than to cross the dastardly diagnostician.

House lumbered down the corridors, fuming. He couldn't possibly be losing his finesse in dealing with Cuddy. The daft woman must've married the hospital and signed some iron-clad pre-nup, because she couldn't risk NOT confirming Charles' self-imposed diagnosis on nationwide television. Media, whore, just like Sebastian "I'm here to die for a good cause" Charles, MD (House changed "medical" into "mediocre" for this patient).

He slowed down a few doors away from the patient's room as an idea to thwart the conference began to ferment in his mind. A moment later, he soured at it—Chase was too chicken to streak in the middle of the press con…and even if he wore a paper bag over his head, a lot of people would've recognized his ass, particularly if the news conference reached Australia.

House's thoughts continued in this vein as he neared Charles' room. Just as he was about to slide open the door, he stared into a scene that made him reconsider the streak diversion. He'll have Foreman sneak some joints into the man's pants and then frame him.

Cameron was seated next to Charles' bed, holding his hands. House couldn't tell what Cameron was feeling or thinking, with her back to him, but the meaningful look on Charles' face had galvanized the diagnostician into action…

* * *

Cameron had no idea how long she held Sebastian's gaze—hand—before a crippled maniac barged into the room. She was shocked to see the wild look on House's face a split second before he wiped the patient's table top clean with his cane and proceeded to flush Sebastian's cell phone down the toilet.

* * *

When House left, the room was a mess of a hotspot—literally. Aside from wreaking havoc on Sebastian's personal effects, the diagnostician also raised the temperature in the room to sauna levels.

Cameron looked at Sebastian in worry. The famous doctor was staring at the ceiling, breathing deeply. Aside from the furious words he exchanged with House, she thought Sebastian took her employer's shenanigans in stride.

"How did you last this long working for that psychopath?" he suddenly asked.

Cameron nearly jumped at that. She composed herself before looking at Sebastian's face, which mirrored the shock and gruffness in his voice. He received a smile from the lovely woman before she called for a nurse to clean up the carnage House left behind. Got to make the room presentable, at least, before the voracious media men eat their fill on the scene of the crime.

"He's—got his moments," Cameron began, as she took the chair she vacated in shock a few minutes earlier and sat on it, facing Sebastian. "When he thinks the patient is being, um—"Cameron made some waving gestures and bit her lip. Dr. Charles got the message.

"A stubborn ass?" he supplied sarcastically. "Or more right than House himself, which would make him look bad?" Sebastian loosened the collar of his robe a bit, finally feeling the heat from the adjusted thermostat.

Cameron shook her head, trying hard not to laugh outright in case House hears her and comes back for Round 2. "From my experience so far, he's usually right." She peered at Sebastian through her thick lashes and the humor was gone from her face. "Is something wrong?"

Sebastian stopped wiping the sweat off his face immediately and put on a bland face, which didn't fool Cameron in the slightest. "Uh, no, nothing—nothing's wrong!"

Cameron frowned.

"I'll go adjust the temp—"

But at that moment, Dr. Lisa Cuddy had arrived with the members of the press.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Sebastian Charles decided that House probably did him a favor, mental case or not. The shouting match they had earlier had fueled his commitment to the cause. He placed House on the same level as the pharmaceutical companies who wouldn't share their precious meds to the people who need them simply because it wasn't profitable enough. In House's case, however, the neurotic cripple couldn't even bring himself to treat, much less see, patients unless they're either famous or their illness is very unique. Not much difference between them; selfish is selfish.

He turned his gaze from the media men preparing their equipment—damn, those lights are hot!—to Dr. Cameron talking quietly to Dr. Cuddy out in the hallway. Judging from the deepening scowl on the older woman's face, Cameron has just updated her on the reason behind the state of his room. Sebastian wished he could witness Dr. House getting the boot.

He looked back at the mob setting up their equipment in his room, sighing. Dr. Allison Cameron was the kind of woman he'd been missing out on his life since he committed himself to his quest—sympathetic, bright, funny, and an excellent negotiator, if she'd managed to last this long under the tyranny of Dr. Gregory House. The fact that she was also a knock-out beauty was simply an added bonus.

Well, at least he got to know a girl like her before he died…

Charles looked back out the room; Cameron and Cuddy were still in conference, and it seemed that Cameron managed to calm down her superior. Pity—House's termination would have done PPTH a world of good.

* * *

Charles was making his plight—the plight of millions known—when Dr. House stormed the room once again.

_No…_

"What the hell do you think you're doing House!"

* * *

Dr. Cameron was horrified. She thought she was witnessing House's fall from sanity, firsthand.

_He's making a spectacle of himself on nationwide television by refuting the diagnosis!_

* * *

Dr. Lisa Cuddy was thinking of something else as she witnessed PPTH's star doctor wave a 600-Watt camera light on the face of the world's most famous doctor. She recalled her last words with House a few hours ago before she left for the press con.

_If you screw this up, I will personally cleave your head from your neck, House!_

_

* * *

Meanwhile, in another part of the hospital, two doctors are sharing a bag of chips between them. They are fully fixated on the drama unfolding on the TV set in the patient's room, the patient himself conveniently comatose and unable to do anything about them._

The doctors were thinking rapidly different thoughts as House proved himself right when Charles started to go into cardiac arrest.

Dr. Foreman wondered if he should be relieved that House won't get fired or chalk it up as another stroke of luck for the brilliant son of a bitch. Then, he remembered what House just told him, and he told himself to just sit back and enjoy what may be his last few moments working in this hospital.

Dr. James Wilson reached into the bag for another chip before passing it back to Foreman. He was making some mental notes about House's cameo appearance on the press con so that he could have some ammo for future use.

Unbeknownst to either of the men in the room, the other man lying down on the bed briefly opened his eyes, blinked, and then closed them.

* * *

The reporters had to clear the room. Cuddy assigned that duty to herself as Cameron attempted to resuscitate Dr. Charles. House stood back and watched. He looked at Cuddy, who shot him a glare that would've sent Sharon Osbourne into hysterics. Personally, the eye shadow Cuddy was wearing wasn't softening the glare much.

House didn't care. He turned to look at Cameron, who successfully revived the patient and supervised the nurses into doing the necessities. He's done his job—by this time, he'd be back to his Sudoku game if the stubborn martyr-wannabe did everyone a favor and kicked off for the Savannah in the sky.

Dr. Sebastian Charles lives, though, and House still had to find the other half of the equation.

* * *

Cameron was relieved. Charles was stabilized and will be monitored carefully from now on.

She looked down at Charles, looking very peaceful and unruffled in his unconscious state. Cameron's heart jumped as she was suddenly assailed with a case of _déjà vu_.

_A stark hospital room. Monitors, IV drips, and the sound of beeping—sights and sounds that did nothing to block out the inevitable. _

Allison looked down at the figure on the bed. Just a few months ago, this man exchanged vows with her, looking down at her with eyes full of love and gratefulness. He never opened his eyes since his collapse, and he's been on life support for three days now.

Her husband looked a lot like Charles after the doctors finished removing some fluid that accumulated in his lungs. As she was thinking this, her hand moved in a gesture that became second nature to her during that trying time.

Something stopped her, though, and she turned to find Dr. House standing in one side of the room, staring at her. In the split second that Cameron had a good look at his unguarded expression before he changed it, she could have sworn that she saw something in his intense blue eyes.

"I…"

"Don't fix him up for the funeral just yet," House said crisply, acting like himself. What a relief. "We have to find out what's killing him first before he gives up and send himself to the mortuary."

House popped a Vicodin and swallowed it before he hauled himself up from the wall and limped for the door. Cameron didn't know what else to say.

"Let me know when he wakes up. I'll give him the meds this time."

* * *

"Fantastic debut on TV you made there, House," an amused Wilson said, as he walked up to his friend hobbling for the pharmacy. "You'll get the Razzies for sure, no doubt about it!"

House rolled his eyes before he replied in mock excitement, "Gee, y'really think so, Jimmy-Jim-Jim!" He completed the performance with some exaggerated touches on his stubble. "I should shave and prepare my speech. Oh, **no**—I can't be seen with **this**!" He waved his cane in front of an amused Wilson. "I have to go find my pimpin' cane with the cubit zirconia-studded handle and gold-plated trim. Think my old tux will fit? Haven't worn it since you and Julie got married."

Wilson chuckled. House approached the pharmacy and rattled off a bunch of meds to the long-suffering pharmacist, which included a new bottle of Vicodin. Wilson's humor abated a little as House popped a Vicodin before turning around and limping for the elevators.

"Now that you've proven Charles doesn't have TB on national TV," Wilson said, "How're you going to convince him to take the medicine this time?"

House looked at Wilson and winked before replying, "Oh, yea of little faith." He reached out and tweaked Wilson's nose rather sharply, making Wilson yelp in pain and rub his nose in discomfort. "If he won't take 'em, I'll get a funnel from Maintenance and shove them down his throat."

* * *

Later, House left Dr. Sebastian Charles triumphant. His threat of giving a bogus autopsy report to the gentlemen of the press would be enough to get the stubborn white witchdoctor to take modern TB medicine for sure.

As he sauntered for the elevators, House spotted Dr. Chase on his left, also making for the elevators. The handsome intensivist looked up from the file he was perusing into his boss's face and curious blue eyes met shrewd blue eyes for a moment.

House knew where to find some answers.

Chase knew that look.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Chase!" House called out in a cheery voice that wouldn't have fooled Santa Claus.

"Good afternoon, Dr. House," Chase replied cautiously, looking sharply to the right and left of him for a possible exit route. No such luck.

House smiled a smile that raised alarm bells in Chase's head. The two men reached the elevators just as they opened. House kept the doors open and invited Chase to enter first. Chase wished he could fake a page so that he could have a viable excuse to run for it, but he never could say no to House like Foreman or Cameron. He entered the elevator like a person being led to the executioner. House followed him inside.

"Let's talk…" House began as the doors closed.


	4. Chapter 4 Finale

**Comments and suggestions are most welcome. Its been fun writing my version of TB or not TB. Time to move on to other episodes--hehe!**

Wilson found House on the rooftop of PPTH as the sky was turning into a lovely purplish-blue, with a touch of grayish-brown from the NJ exhaust collective.

He had a bad feeling about this—ever since Stacy left him, House only came to this place when something incredibly personal was eating him. He had a hunch, but he wanted to be completely sure…

House turned around the moment Wilson opened the door. He nodded briefly at his friend before returning a brooding gaze to the darkening sky.

Wilson was used to this silent treatment, so he just stepped up beside House and just as pointedly ignored him.

"Ran out of bald-headed Munchkins to cure, Wilson?" came the acerbic inquiry.

Wilson managed not to roll his eyes at that. "They're doing fine, concentrating on growing back some T-cells and hair. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me," House answered in the most contrived cheerful tone of voice Wilson has ever heard him use. "Why do you always assume that something's bothering me?"

"Well, aside from the fact that everything's bothering you," Wilson replied just as sarcastically cheerful, putting a hand to his chin and stroking it like he had imaginary stubble, "this place can only be accessed by using the fire escape. But, due to present circumstances—"Wilson paused to glance at House, who stared stonily back at him," —the stairs are a painful accessibility option for you, even if you took all the Vicodin in the world."

"Well, isn't it obvious?" House said caustically, "I was exercising! Got a little set of love handles going on here—don't let the deceptively loose fit of my clothes fool you—and I was getting my air back. The stubble's also slimming—you stand to gain growing some yourself, Wilson. It'll offset those wild eyebrows of yours, give your face more balance—the patients will love it!"

Wilson fought to keep a straight face. "Since when did you start caring about appearances?" He looked at House from top to bottom, knowing that his friend was the last person those fashion mags would ever ask for a consult on deceptive slimming techniques.

"I can't believe Dr. Charles is still getting to you, House," Wilson continued, leaning on the ledge of the rooftop to get a better view at House's reactions, "even after you've successfully brainwashed the man to make him take the medicine."

House made a face at Wilson.

"The great white hope of the Serengeti is no match for the Prince of Princeton—"

"Who?"

House gave Wilson an incredulous look, receiving a mocking grin in reply.

"—and he's certainly not getting on my nerves and he can screw whomever he wants! I get laid more often than he does…"

Wilson abruptly pushed himself away from his leaning position so fast at this point, House wondered how his friend didn't end up sprawled on the ground. Chocolate brown eyes narrowed as it zeroed in on cobalt blue eyes. House's left eyebrow arched in suspicion.

Wilson's eyes crinkled before his smile appeared.

House's eyes shifted to a steady blue glare as his mouth curved into an angry frown.

"What?" he barked. "Why are you looking at me like that? You gonna confess to me about something I don't want to hear?"

Wilson's smile just got wider as the humor he was discovering presently decided to set up the trap with a bit of juicy trivia. Everybody lies, after all.

"Just that I found it odd that you'd be up here the moment Cameron and Dr. Charles went out on their date," he said casually. He tried not to let out a whoop of triumph as he viewed House's physical reaction to his little bombshell.

"No way!" House's eyes were bulging dangerously out of their sockets—Wilson was suddenly reminded of the time he baited House in a similar fashion, suggesting that he himself was also hitting on Cameron. "Chase told me that—"

"Oh, ho, **HO!**"

House shut up the moment Wilson made the outburst and raised both his own eyebrows. He gave the oncologist his most dangerous, eye-bulging glare of doom as Wilson slowly backed away from the ledge. Wilson was wagging a finger knowingly at House as he made his way for the rooftop door.

House was getting a sense of déjà vu as the door closed behind Wilson.

* * *

The myriad of symptoms that sent Dr. Sebastian Charles into the clutches of PPTH's resident diagnostician was slowly getting narrowed down. One by one, Doctors Foreman, Chase, and Cameron checked up on the patient, took some samples, tested them, and returned to the glass confines of the conference room to mark out the TB symptom that was going away and the symptom that remained. 

It was Cameron's turn to check on Dr. Charles. She noticed that he was looking a lot better than before, just even more morose. Cameron couldn't blame him; she got the lowdown on how House managed to "convince" Charles to take the TB medication from the patient himself.

Cameron was flexing Charles' arm for a routine physical test at the moment. She was aware that he was looking at her, watching her do her thing. She tried not to blush.

Charles didn't say anything during the procedure, just gave Dr. Cameron a nod or a shake of the head when she asked him some questions. _Does your arm hurt when I move it this way? How about now?_

Had she asked, "Does it make you feel good when I hold your arm like this?" he'd have a ready reply for her. But she still hasn't given him a concrete decision about his offer of a date—or something more.

Cameron had finished testing Charles' physical and had put down his arm when he suddenly grasped her hands in his, shocking the hell out of her. She calmed down a bit; his large, callused hands were gentle and soothing her own smooth pair as he ran his thumb up and down on the back of her hands.

No words were spoken for a whole minute.

There is no doctor, no patient, no hospital—and for Cameron—no sardonic, brilliant blue eyes and whiplash honesty.

Just two people with a certain attraction for one another, looking into the other's eyes what possibilities lay outside the present.

"I'll have to decline your offer," Cameron said softly. "I'm—sorry. My place is here—I don't belong in Africa, never be able to handle it."

Sebastian looked down at those words, but he still held on to her hands.

"I can't leave my patients there for a life here—not even if House got kicked out of this country," he said. "Might not be able to complete what I started out to do, might not even live long enough to actually finish it."

His hold on her hands tightened a little—not enough to hurt her.

"There'll be others, Sebastian," Cameron murmured. Sebastian looked up at her at the mention of his first name—it sounded so right to him. "They'll come to help you—they'll open their eyes. And just because I won't come with you doesn't mean I'm not able to help you from here."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that. Cameron winked down at him.

"So, how much of that Levofloxacin do you need?" Cameron asked.

Sebastian knew he'd found the right girl. He pressed his lips to Cameron's hands, savoring the warmth and the sweet scent—even though it smelled of disinfectant soap—it was heaven to him. He's allowed a little indulgence, right?

* * *

House was looking at the whiteboard, which was almost hard to read with all the crossed out symptoms and the circle marks, when Cameron entered the conference room to add to the mess. 

House didn't seem to acknowledge her presence, letting Cameron edit out another symptom from the whiteboard. He processed this new information while looking closely at the immunologist.

She moves quite gracefully, even though the most she did was cross out a TB-related symptom off the confusing list. He admired how the fluorescent bulbs show off the hidden highlights of her dark hair—red coming out from the brown.

He was reminded of Stacy, and then shook off that thought. Stacy was unique; Cameron was like a smitten swimfan for him. She deserved someone whole, someone with whom she can hold her own and can share her naïve views of the world. Sebastian Charles seems to be the man for the job; he can have her for all he cared.

So why, when he interrogated Chase in the elevator, taking a cue from the mobster lawyer and hitting the elevator's emergency button to get Chase to spill the beans—thankfully, nothing else—did he feel like shoving his cane down Charles' throat instead of the medicine? Its something he wasn't comfortable facing—true, he's attracted to Dr. Allison Cameron. He'd replace the comatose patient whose room he'd been using as his second hideout from Cuddy if he wasn't attracted to Cameron. He'd jump her in a minute if he didn't have a handicap and two other junior doctors to worry about—the latter because Cameron, Chase, and Foreman had formed a bond of sorts, even after that spat during the short term of Edward Vogler. Knowing Cameron and Chase, they were already swapping their moments in sexual relationships; who's to say Cameron won't share her adventure with him?

* * *

Cameron felt his eyes on her. That was why she felt it was prudent that she quietly leave the room instead of sharing the newest finding. 

She wondered if he noticed the blooming heat on her cheeks. Ah, but what does he care? He made it perfectly clear that he didn't want her, could never love her.

But then why did he went berserk that afternoon in Dr. Charles' room, when she was holding his hands? It wasn't that House never did anything crazy to petrify patients to do what was right—he just didn't usually have to go using the angry route.

Is there a reason for her to look into that moment?

* * *

Dr. Lisa Cuddy placed the phone back on the hook without managing to break the device, taking in a few calming deep breaths to settle her temper. 

She is **so** going to pluck out all that stubble from his face—how dare he impersonate her and slander Dr. Charles to Newsweek!

FIN


End file.
